


Bladeybug

by abadmeanman



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Gen, ML Ultimate Guess Who Challenge, Reveal, Swords, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 06:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10430946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abadmeanman/pseuds/abadmeanman
Summary: Ladybug's love of swords has some unexpected consequences, in costume and out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the ML Ultimate Guess Who Challenge! https://mlficwritersanon.tumblr.com

“ _Another_ sword? What am I going to do with this?”

Chat flew through the air with a hapless wail as Grim Brûlée--the latest akuma to threaten Paris--flung him away with the slap of a rock-hard caramel-hand. And Ladybug was left blinking a her Lucky Charm.

Of _course_ it was a sword again.

Ladybug held the sword--a straight-bladed cavalry backsword--and tested its balance subconsciously. Perfect, like all of the last eleven Lucky Charm swords had been. Sharp and dangerous-looking, and not at all in keeping with the modern-savior-of-a-modern-Paris aesthetic she had going. Plus, Chat had been the one to fence with Darkblade that one time. Why the swords? Why _her_?

As she fled from the demented confectionary akuma, Ladybug’s mind raced. Every sword Lucky Charm before had been used to some indirect end--a classic hallmark of Lucky Charms in general, and Tikki’s magic in particular. She had shattered The Francophile’s glass harmonica by slinging a scimitar like a boomerang, destroying the item from an unexpected angle. A well-anchored zweihander had tangled up the leather straps dangling from the Fete-ishist, using its parierhaken to snag a length of material for long enough that Chat could steal her akumatized curly party horn. Creole Lady Harmalade had been defeated when the broad, polished blade of a gladius had shone light in her eyes at a critical moment. And so on, and so on.

But how was _this_ sword going to help at all against an akuma layered in crust after crust of toasted sugar?

Ladybug ducked behind a conveniently-located pillar to ponder her Lucky Charm and worry. Even Chat Noir’s Cataclysm had only destroyed one of the hardened caramelization layers on Grim Brûlée, so your basic sword activities like slashing and stabbing were out. The akuma villain was simply too well armored.

Maybe it was just her civilian-life obsession with swords that was leaking through. Maybe she and Tikki had just _really_ been in sync. Magic wasn’t an exact science, after all. . Maybe it was all of those exhibits at the Louvre and her study of historical Ladybugs. Or was that Ladiesbug? Regardless, she had to find out a way to defeat this akuma, and _fast._ Chat only had minutes left on his transformation, and if she stepped in one more ramekin of haunted custard, she would _nope nope nope_ right on out of France.

As Chat Noir went flying into an adjacent bus, coated in sticky-sharp shards of caramel, she inspected the weapon. Slightly unusual for this type of sabre, its basket hilt was almost solid, rather than perforated or made of twisted bars; otherwise, it was fairly traditional design, with a broad, straight blade sharpened on one edge. Call it late 17th century Italian schiavanova, maybe Milanese. Of course, the fact that it was made entirely out of a magical red-with-black-spots material was nontraditional, but--

 _Focus, Ladybug_. _There will be time for sword nerd spiels later._

“My Lady, I thought our first time tackling a dessert together would involve three Michelin stars and much better ambiance. For that, I apologize,” said Chat, sweeping himself into an absurd bow. He straightened and brushed some stray caramel-studded _crema_ _catalana_ from his suit, succeeding only in getting gloopy confection all over his gloves. He sighed, and scooted next to Ladybug behind the pillar. Behind them, the sounds of custardy footsteps and a blowtorch re-brûlée-ing the villain haunted the streets of Paris.

Ladybug shook her head with a wry, distracted smile. She’d gotten used to his joke-reactions to stress, eventually “Don’t worry, Chat, I’m disappointed, too. What the heck am I going to use this sword for?”

“Another sword? It’s been swords for a whole month.”

“Swords, swords, swords, Chat! I love swords as much as anyone, but they are even _more_ perplexing than Lucky Charms normally are. What the hell!”

Chat peeked out from the safety of the column. Devastation, still. He turned back to Ladybug, shaking his head to indicate the state of affairs out there, but she was in a different mindset.

“I don’t even have a scabbard! Ugh! Like, I get it, I’m obsessed with swords, _that doesn’t have to work it’s way into my magical superhero life_!”

“Gonna remember that one…” Chat said under his breath, then cleared his throat to address Ladybug directly. “But in the meantime, we need to figure a way around that caramel armor. It was… pretty tough. I’m not seeing how we can use a sword to bust open that crust.” He flexed his Cataclysm hand and scrunched his nose at it. As if in reply, his ring beeped, and one more neon green toe bean disappeared.

Chat was right. His staff had been harmlessly deflecting off of the akuma’s crust for the whole fight, and Ladybug’s yo-yo had just as little luck. What else could you even use this kind of sword for? Ladybug huffed. _I love you, Tikki, but how the heck does this magic work?_

“Well, no offense to swords,” Chat continued. “But everyone knows that you have to use a spoon to break a crème brûlée. Looks like we’re out of luck.”

_Well, I can’t use the sword for…_

_Wait a minute…_

_Unless…_

“Chat, you’re a genius!” Ladybug wrapped her non-sword-holding hand around Chat’s waist in a quick, tight hug, before bursting out from behind the pillar. “Flank around the other side, distract it! I know what to do!”

“Got it!”

The best thing about Chat was that he had _impeccable_ teamwork. True as his word, he circled the lumbering akuma, creating an incredible distraction focused around a little soft-shoe routine he’d mastered, practically vaudevillian. He’d managed to develop some real moves since they’d started heroing together. Somewhere in the wreckage of Paris, he’d acquired a straw boater hat and a cane. Akuma villains _could not_ resist his patter.

Ladybug--somehow much more stealthy in her bright red suit--crept up behind Grim Brûlée, and flipped the sword around in her hands. She held it by the blade, hilt facing outwards. The red-and-black cup of the hilt caught the air like it could smell burnt sugar, like it was hungry for action.

Like it was a giant, sharp-handled spoon _eager_ to crack into some crème brûlée.

Ladybug crossed her fingers mentally, and hoped that a basket hilt on a sword was close enough to a spoon that it would count. And then she leapt, perfectly silent except for her quiet _huff_ of effort as she swung the bowl of her makeshift spoon with all of her Ladybuff might.  

* * *

Afterwards, Chat had insisted upon them sharing an _actual_ crème brûlée. Once the caramel was broken for real--there’s no un-cracking a crème brûlée--cleanup was easy. Chat had simply extended his baton through the soft, goopy custard of the akuma to release the akumatized item: the last strawberry on an anniversary dessert. One kwami-feeding, one dessert-stop, and one _transformer-moi_ later, and they were enjoying a lingering, costumed decompression session atop Notre Dame.

“Well, there are worse reasons to get akumatized,” said Chat, shattering some perfectly benign caramel with his spoon. “Animan, I’m looking at you.”

“Agreed,” said Ladybug, dipping her own utensil into the extremely delicious and _not_ sentient or evil custard treat between them. “Anniversaries are important.”

“Mmm,” said Chat in agreement. He spooned some more into his mouth, clearly savoring the crunch of the caramel crust. “Nice work with that spoon-sword. Spword. Swoon. Swoon!” He faked a swoon, collapsing backwards with the back of his hand dramatically raised to his forehead. “Swoon is exactly what I did when I saw how adroitly you defeated that akuma. Oh, ah, my Lady! My hero! Oh, oh my!”

Ladybug snorted and kicked him gently in the shin, taking the opportunity of his absence to eat more than her share of delicious crème brûlée. “Nerd. What can I say? My kwami comes through.”

“I didn’t even know you could use a sword like that,” said Chat, sitting back up. He returned his attention to the dessert, jealously fencing spoons with Ladybug over a particularly choice bit of burned sugar. “Holding it by the blade! You innovator, you.”

She shook her head with a smile. “Chat, Chat, Chat. So young, so dewy fresh in the ways of the blade. That kind of attack was pretty common, historically,” said Ladybug, around a mouthful of custard. She swallowed and continued. “It’s called a murder-blow, or  _Mordschleig_ in German. You use it against armored opponents when a blade would just get dull.”

“Huh! You learn something new every day!” Chat eyed the last worthwhile spoonful of custard, flicking his gaze back and forth between (a dewy-eyed, maybe-going-to-start-crying, flavor-neglected, dessert-needing) Ladybug and the crème brûlée. After a few moments of indecision, he faux-grudgingly scooted the dish over to Ladybug.

“Now you’re _my_ hero,” she said with a smile, wasting no time in collecting the last of the treat. “Mmmfy hrfrrfo,” she said, muffled by crème brûlée.

“At last!” Chat leaned back, snorting a quick series of laughs through his nose, above a beaming grin. “You have all the sword facts, huh?”

“I do try.” The words came out garbled around her last, savored mouthful of custard.

“So what’s your favorite sword?”

Ladybug lay back on her elbows, matching Chat Noir’s position, a widening smile splitting her face. “ _Now_ you are speaking my language, _minou_.”

She pondered. She furrowed her brow, swords dancing through her mind as a pair of slitted green eyes inspected her scrunched-up nose and increasingly pursed lips. “Hmm,” she thought. “Hmmmmmmm,” she thought, but longer.

“Kilij. Has to be the kilij. It’s a Turkish-origin curved sword, popular from Hungary to Persia, related to sabres and scimitars. It’s heyday was from about 1600 to the late 19th century. It’s a sword that’s got everything--lightweight enough to be useful on foot, but curved for easy slashing on horseback. Widened blade at the tip for extra weight, really increases the percussive power of a chop. They got pretty popular with European militaries in the 18th and 19th centuries, and formed the basis for most modern cavalry sabres. Yeah, the kilij. It was pretty close with the tulwar, but I think the weighted, broadened blade really tips the balance to the kilij. Plus, it’s from a Turkish word meaning ‘breaker,’ so that’s pretty sweet.”

“Oh wow,” said Chat, blinking. “that's a lot of information about a sword.”

“I barely scratched the surface, _minou_.” Ladybug rolled over onto her side and propped herself up with an elbow. “What about you? I saw you fence with Darkblade that one time. Rapier?”

“ _Definitely_ katana.”

Ladybug collapsed onto her arm with a moan, rolling away from Chat Noir with an exaggerated sound of despairing frustration.

“Chat! You're killing me! You just chopped me in half! Ugh, such a cliche choice. Katana! Of all the things…”

“Katanas are cool!”

“ _You_ are betraying your anime nature. Katana is a weak-ass weeb choice. _Way_ overplayed. It's not even my _third_ favorite Japanese sword. Get good!”

“Nerd trap _sprung._ ”

“Nuh _uh_ ,” said Ladybug as she rolled back to face him. “I chop my way out of the nerd trap with my bitchin’ kilij and watch _you_ get trapped in my separate, _better_ nerd trap which I set to trap you into admitting you like a basic bro weeaboo scrub sword.”

“Drat!”

“Owned.”

“Well at least we agree that swords are freaking sweet,” said Chat. “I got that going for me, right?”

Ladybug favored him with a sidelong look. “Yeah, I guess that's good enough. I can always tell you more about swords.”

“Lay it on me!”

* * *

“Marinette, check it out! Ladybug’s Lucky Charm yesterday was _another_ sword! I wonder if this is her gritty reboot?”

Alya had presented her tablet to Marinette at far too close of a distance, with barely a centimeter between her nose and the glowing screen, leaving Marinette blinking and stunned. She pulled her face back as Alya barraged her with Ladybug theories, finally retreating far enough to read the Ladyblog post Alya had made based on the Grim Brûlée attack.

 _“BLADEYBUG!?”_ it said, all caps, Ladybug font. The subtitle was slightly more informative: “ _Ladybug has been summoning swords as her lucky charms for weeks--does this spell a new direction for Paris’ preeminent guardian duo?”_

“W-well, I don't know if it's a gritty reboot, per se…” said Marinette, hedging as best she could. “I mean she didn't chop anyone _up_ with the sword or anything.”

“Yeah, good point. Chopping dudes is _severely_ gritty,” said Alya. She pulled her tablet back to her part of the desk, finger to her lips, tap-tap-tapping a little rhythm as she pondered a revision of the post.

Chloe, unpleasantly enough, had ears like a bat when it came to Ladybug.

“I would _definitely_ let Ladybug chop me in half with a sword,” she said, delicately touching up her makeup as Sabrina held up a full-length mirror for her. She was met with a few murmurs of agreement from around the class.

“Ladybug would never do that!” Adrien had entered the room just as Chloe had admitted her deep, chop-in-half-level admiration for Ladybug, and had, of course, come to Ladybug’s defense.

“Well…” said Marinette. As much as she hated to disagree with Adrien… she had a little bit more information about Ladybug _and_ a pretty realistic understanding of how obnoxious Chloe could be. “Weeeeeelllllllll…..”

“What do you think it means?” asked Alya. “She's never had this much of a pattern before. Not with her Lucky Charms. She summoned, like, nine swords I’d never even heard of before.”

Max snorted, adjusting his glasses. “And that’s barely the tip of the iceberg, where swords are concerned.” Kim slugged him in the shoulder, but in a friendly way.

“Maybe… she just likes swords?” Adrien offered to Alya’s original question. “Swords are cool.”

“YEAH I AGREE! SO COOL!” The words were out of Marinette’s mouth before she realized she'd formed them.

“WAIT hold that thought. Idea for the blog. Hey everyone! A Ladyblog exclusive, the youth of Paris and bladed weaponry! What are all of your favorite swords?”

Months of operating the Ladyblog had made Alya absolutely stellar at constructing an on-the-spot survey and extracting those juicy, juicy details about people’s Ladybug-related opinions. She canvassed the class like a pro, soliciting sword-deets from everyone present.

Some of the selections weren’t particularly surprising. Ivan favored the two-handed claymore? Not a shocker. Kim liked bastard swords? Well, he could be a real bastard. Alix wanted a khopesh? Hey, turns out the whole family is into ancient Egyptian stuff. Rose favored the rapier, but specified that “it had to be one with the really pretty hilts!”? Makes perfect sense.

Apropos, for most of the class, at first. And then, of course, the surprises started rolling in.

“Alright, Chloe, what’s your favorite sword?” asked Alya, the hesitation to even bring it up to her inflecting her voice. “Epee? Maybe a colchemarde? I have learned a lot about swords in the last few minutes.”

“PGM Hecate II sniper rifle,” said Chloe, disinterestedly polishing her already-perfect nails.

Alya and Marinette rolled their eyes in unison. “Chloe, _must_ you?” asked Alya. “Stay with us. Swords only. What’s your favorite sword?”

“Nuh uh,” said Chloe. “Guns are better than swords, and history is on my side.”

“For once…” said Marinette, under her breath.

“This discussion is stupid,” said Chloe, draping herself dramatically across her desk. “No one even uses swords anymore.”

“Ladybug does,” said Adrien. “Chloe, come on! The last few Lucky Charms have all been swords. I _know_ you know that. You’re the second biggest Ladybug fan I know.”

“Um, _excuse_ me? Who’s first, if I’m second?”

“Well, me obviously,” said Adrien, as Marinette quietly lost all of her bones.

“You two are a distant _second_ and _third_ when you’re up against Alya Cesaire.” Alya turned away from the two ridiculous blondes to address her bestie. “What about you, Marinette? _You_ at least respect the terms of a hypothetical.”

“Yeah! I’d love to know what kind of swords you like!” Adrien turned around in his chair to look at her, smiling green eyes blasting her hair back from her face.

“Oh, um…” she said, starting with her typical flustration when being blasted by Adrien’s glorious, shimmering aura. Luckily, she had an answer already mapped out in short-term memory.

“Kilij. Has to be the kilij. It’s a Turkish-origin curved sword, popular from Hungary to Persia, related to sabres and scimitars.”

_Wait a minute..._

“It’s heyday was from about 1600 to the late 19th century. It’s a sword that’s got everything--lightweight enough to be useful on foot, but curved for easy slashing on horseback.”

_This sounds..._

“Widened blade at the tip for extra weight, really increases the percussive power of a chop. They got pretty popular with European militaries in the 18th and 19th centuries, and formed the basis for most modern cavalry sabres.”

_Didn’t she also..._

“Yeah, the kilij. It was pretty close with the tulwar, but I think the weighted, broadened blade really tips the balance to the kilij.”

_There’s no way that..._

“Plus, it’s from a Turkish word meaning ‘breaker,’ so that’s pretty sweet.”

The first few sentences Marinette spoke had slowed Adrien’s heartbeat down one beat per minute per word, and the last few had rocketed it up to the thousands of B’s per M. He’d heard this before. Every word.

“Marinette! Damn, babe! I didn’t know you were _that_ horny for swords!”

“Alya, I am _totally_ horny for swords!”

There was no way. There was no _way_ . It couldn’t be a coincidence. Ladybug had told him about her favorite sword away from all of the cameras, and even away from Alya’s sneaky little phone recordings. She’d gone on that rant. She’d detailed _so much_ about why that one particular sword was her favorite.

And Marinette had said the same thing, word for word.

“What about you, Adrien?” asked Alya. “Last one up. What’s your favorite sword?”

“Y-yeah,” said Marinette. “I’d l-love to hear about it…”

Well. Only one thing to do now.

Adrien turned his eyes to meet Marinette’s, gazing as directly and greenly as he could.

“ _Definitely_ katana.” He thought he saw her twitch. Did she remember? She had to. Right? “I know it’s such a basic weeaboo scrub choice, but katanas are cool.” Another twitch. “Even if it betrays my anime nature, you know, that I’m a weak-ass weeb.” Her eyes were wide, and blue, and they _knew_. “Sure, they’re way overplayed.” He heard the soft wheeze of her breath stopping stock-still in her throat. “And it’s probably, like, your third favorite Japanese sword, at least, Marinette…” He lingered on her name. If that sound he heard from her was anything other than her heart stopping, he would eat his own shower. “... but I just love that basic bro weeaboo scrub sword.”

The class around him was laughing and booing his kitschy choice in cliched weaponry, but he didn’t hear them. And from the intensity of her stare and the slackness of her jaw, neither did Marinette.

“Well at least we agree that swords are freaking sweet,” he said, sealing the deal. “I got that going for me, right?”

And Marinette nodded.

* * *

At the end of the schoolday--what had even happened for the rest of the class?--they stayed behind, a perplexed Alya and Nino shooting them glances and smiles and winks as the rest of their classmates filed out.

“I cannot,” said Marinette, as she climbed over her desk to land beside Adrien. “ _Believe_ ,” she said, as she sat next to him. “That you learned _nothing_ since our conversation about swords last night.”

Adrien resisting turning to her, at first, still fighting a losing battle against the cheek-splitting grin that had been trying to stretch his lips for _hours_. But he gave up when she sat down, and he turned to see her face, and saw her eyes bright and blue with barely-contained giggles, and her lips scrunched up to smother an _obviously Ladybug_ smile. He broke down, cackling madly with his forehead pressed to the wood of the desk. Marinette’s hand was right there, out of the corner of his eye, and he couldn’t help but squeeze it with his own. She squeezed back.

“I can’t believe that my careful little Ladybug loves swords _so much_ that she has a spiel _memorized_.”

Marinette--still trying to hold back a grin--laughed a series of snorty little giggles out of her nose and let her chin fall onto her chest, shaking her head as she lost more and composure.

“You sassy cat. Pretending you didn’t _totally learn_ something.”

“Oh I learned plenty.” Adrien raised his head from the desk, turning to face Marinette. His hand still held hers, in between them now.

“Did you?” Marinette’s lips were in a tight little smile, curling one side of her lips. _Desperately_ trying to keep from an all-out grin.

“A secret.” He winked.

“Is that so?” Marinette scooted closer on the bench.

“Mmmhmm,” he said, scooting closer, too. “Want to hear it.”

“Oh yes please.”

Adrien leaned forward and to the side, bringing his lips so close to Marinette’s earrings that he could feel the heat from her _very_ pink skin. He whispered to her.

“You’re horny for swords.”

She puffed out a short huffing giggle from between her lips and collapsed onto Chat’s shoulder, shaking her head. “My droll little _chaton_.”

“ _C’est moi_!” He nuzzled himself into Marinette’s neck slightly--a level of intimacy they hadn’t ever shared out of costume, and which was rare even when they were suited up. “I find myself increasingly attracted to the kilij, honestly.”

Marinette pushed herself away from Adrien--itself a monumental task--and fixed him with a look, her free, not-being-held hand braced on his shoulder. She shook her head.

“Look, Adrien, I know you’re trying to be sweet, but you can’t just say that. You’re just saying you like the kilij because _I_ talked about it. No, no--you have to come by your opinion honestly.”

“Oh, uh--okay?”

“I am very, _very_ serious about swords. You have to _actually_ have a favorite sword _of your own_.”

“Oh--okay!’

“You know… I actually have some literature on swords…”

“Oh yeah?”

“If you want to, uh, maybe come over some time. A-and watch it.”

“So you’re not going to let me just keep katanas, huh?”

“Hell no.” She gave Adrien a considering look. “You know, I kinda figure you for an estoc man.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s fine, my little naif. I can teach you about swords…”

She scooted closer. “And you... can help me learn a little bit…”

He scooted closer, too.

“--A very specific type--”

Yet closer.

“--Of… fencing.”

They were as close as they could be, almost nose-to-nose, blushing a glorious florid quatrefoil of pink cheeks.

“Do you mean, uh, like--”

“Like this,” she said, and let their tongues do the fencing for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy guessing! Good luck!


End file.
